nd capable, but at first he was shy and nervous and
Semyonov, who seemed always to be present, did not spare him.

Then, quite suddenly, Marie Ivanovna changed. She was kinder to him
than she had ever been, yes, kinder than during those early days in
Petrograd. We all noticed the change in her. When she was with him in
the bandaging-room she whispered advice to him, helped him when she
had a free moment, laughed with him, put him, of course, into a heaven
of delight. How happy at once he was! His clumsiness instantly fell
away from him, he only smiled when Semyonov sneered, his Russian
improved in a remarkable manner. She was tender to him as though she
were much older than he. He has told me that, in spite of his joy,
that tenderness alarmed him. Also when he kissed her she drew back a
little--and she did not reply when he spoke of their marriage.

But for four days he was happy! He used to sing to himself as he
walked about the house in a high cracked voice--one song _I did but
see her passing by_--another _Early one morning_--I can hear him now,
his voice breaking always on the high notes.

_Early one morning
Just as the sun was rising
I heard a maid singing
In the valley below:
"Ah! don't deceive me! Pray never leave me,'
How could you treat a poor maiden so!"_

His pockets were more full than ever of knives and string and buttons.
His smile when he was happy lightened his face, changing the lines of
it, making it if not handsome pleasant and friendly. He would talk to
himself in English, ruffling his hands through his hair: "And then, at
three o'clock I must go with Andrey Vassilievitch ..." or "I wonder
whether she'll mind if I ask--" He had a large briar pipe at which he
puffed furiously, but could not smoke without an endless procession of
matches that afterwards littered the floor around him. "The tobacco's
damp," he explained to us a hundred times. "It's better damp...."

Then, quite suddenly, the blow fell.

One evening, as they were standing alone together in the yard watching
the yellow sky die into dusk, without any preparation, she spoke to
him.

"John," she said, "I can't marry you."

He heard her as though she had spoken to another man. It was as though
he said: "Ah, that will be bad news for so-and-so."

"I don't understand," he said, and instantly afterwards his heart
began to beat like a raging beast and his knees trembled.

"I can't marry you," she told him,